


A good bone

by archiesfrog



Category: Gideon the Ninth - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-25 06:07:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21831217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archiesfrog/pseuds/archiesfrog
Summary: A girl has needs, and the Ninth is not a good place to get those needs met.Gideon plots, Harrowhark plots. Probably the bones plot too, but they aren't talking.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 32
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	A good bone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Griddlebone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Griddlebone/gifts).



> A/N: Happy yule Griddlebone, I hope you like this.  
> With many thanks to the yuletide-crew (you know who you are). Your company, advice and all around awesome is always a joy. Special thanks to L, for her above and beyond beta.

It was a long way to fall in the darkness, so Gideon avoided thinking too much or looking to closely down into the oppressive gloom. She also avoided breathing deeply, but that was because no one came this way normally and she was disturbing a lot of dust with each upward swing of her arms, scraping fingers through cobwebs and dislodging swirls of settled grave dirt with each touch of her hands against the brittle rock. She had been waiting all morning for this opportunity, having carefully picked her day. Crux was busy with the Reverend Daughter, going over census and bone count in the deep levels. Gideon had watched him leave an hour before, from the top of an arched door three stories below. She had placed herself there the night before, wedged in a high corner.

Climbing the wall avoided the active bones making desultory efforts to clean the corridors, and the less active but more likely to nark on her monks working in their scriptorium. But the wall option was not without risks. And fun. Didn’t everyone like free climbing with certain death and no guarantee of a peaceful thereafter before breakfast?

A bit of crumbling stone broke off in her grip and she hung one handed, quietly cursing, watching as the crumbled rock bounced off the wall and fell between her feet, tumbling into the not-quite-infinity drop below.

Swinging her body up, she reached for firmer rock, regaining her speed and finally making it to her target window ledge. Feeling playful, she continued straightening her arms, briefly doing a handstand on the ledge before tumbling into the cell.

Safely inside she slunk over to the plied desk, ignoring the plain chair, plainer table, looming filing cabinet and complete lack of anything else in the bland, cramped cell.

She fist-pumped the air when she saw the sales order. Take that, Crux-who-sucks, look who can correctly identify when the next order to the space station circling the mudball Third House claimed was being placed.

Frowning at the cramped list, Gideon altered numbers here and there, tweaking amounts and changing goods. She looked over the document again, smirking with success. Her changes were slight, and if noticed, should have Crux assuming there had been a clerical error.

“Clerical error.” She sniggered to herself, picturing one of the dried-up scriptorium monks getting Crux on their case for a few mistakes. Whistling under her breath she started back towards the window and away.

Landing on the teirway still cackling quietly, she headed off to the practice grounds.

The day of Gideon’s great grain grab, it dawned grey. No surprises there; the day the sun shone in the Ninth was the day Gideon would go to the depths unprompted and politely greet the aunts. So the day was dark as Gideon joined Crux in meeting the shuttle. He objected, of course, stating that “The presence of one so uncontrolled, disobedient and lacking proper respect would bring the Ninth house into disrepute.”

“I’m not talking to anyone but the pilot, and the day Ninth cares what a shuttle pilot thinks of it is an even sadder day than this one.” Gideon pointed out reasonably. “And having arms that aren’t shedding metatarsals as they carry anything can only help the unloading. Besides, I’m behind on my lifts today. Picking up a few boxes is a generous act of gracious assistance on my part, that it just so happens will also benefit the House. Really, you should thank me.”

Crux had scowled but could hardly argue against her flawless logic, so left her be, though he was petty enough to task the skeletons to other errands. Which now left Gideon unloading all the goods bound for Ninth from the shuttle on her own. She picked boxes up, checking labels and shifting goods around within the shuttle, piling some bound for the Fourth House off to one side, those for the Third to another. The moon base at Sixth had shorted their supplies to Ninth on the last shuttle, and Gideon took pleasure in placing their goods at the bottom of each pile.

The shuttle pilot wasn’t chatty, but Gideon had met the guy before and didn’t need him to talk. He grunted clearly, pointing out the extra boxes intended for Ninth, and Gideon hauled away willingly enough. And if a few had him gesturing a little more emphatically, well, Gideon could walk those a little further, past the kitchens to some of the storerooms even the cook tended to forget existed.

“A nice day to take the vitamin supplements for a walk, is it Nav?”

Gideon controlled any sort of start or flinch and swung to face Harrow.

“A great day,” she responded flatly, and jumped lightly, gripped the top of the storeroom door, and started to deadlift. When her chin was level with the door she swung gently, kicking her feet towards Harrow as if out for a stroll. Harrow snorted.

“You’re needed in the practice courts. Aiglamene has been looking for you all day. Really, Griddle, you think swinging about like this helps anything?”

“Shows what you know,” Gideon snapped back. “Like you can lift a rapier, let alone a decent longsword.”

“If you want to try your hand at a job better done by a construct I certainly won’t stop you.”

Harrowhark turned as if to leave, but then added.“The shuttle has already left. Most unfortunate for anyone trying to slip into the carefully constructed space on the back right, in between boxes bound for Fourth and Fifth House. Really, Griddle, trying you hand at stowing away? You could at least have bribed the pilot.”

Gideon poked her tongue out, but Harrowhark had not even bothered to look back and see the impact of her words, choosing instead to glide away down the corridor.

“Bloody bone breaker.” Gideon ground her teeth together, and worked her feelings out by rapidly pulling herself to chin height and dropping back to a hanging from an outstretched arm. She tossed the box in the air and changed arms when they started to burn.

“Reap all you like, I’d like to see your reaped do these reps,” she muttered to the empty corridor, mentally crossing escape attempt 41 off as unsuccessful. “At least those boneheads at Sixth moon will still have to go diving for their stuff.”

Then remembering she was on the up anyway, box in hand, she took off to look at her loot. The box, on opening, was indeed filled with the goods her altered sales order included. So were the next four she checked. The fifth was a stumbling block - _aren’t they always?_ Gideon thought to herself, snorting at the slight on the fancy Fifth. Instead of the fine yellow-white powder she was expecting, there were closed bags of a greasy white substance. Gideon cut one open and sniffed at the contents, then squeezed a bit onto her tongue. A little sharp, not much texture. Nice enough, she guessed, and maybe one of the houses would trade for it. With a shrug she stowed the box of mayonnaise away again, minus a few packets. Would make a nice addition to the usual swill.

The rare times when a shuttle lands change the air at Ninth. There is a breath, a change Gideon always feels in her bones, or in the bones that surround her.

Not that she really cares.

Another day, another shuttle, and yet another pile of boxes to move. Crux had apparently decided showing up to move boxes once put her on the schedule forever more. Gideon would have objected, but the boxes were decent enough exercise, and a chance to talk with someone not of Ninth was worth more than the indignity of Crux trying to order her around. The last shuttle in the pilot had been willing to trade the mayonnaise for some powdered potato, and this pilot took both potato and grain off her hands, bound for an illegal still on a moonbase somewhere almost closer to the middle of nowhere than Ninth was, if such a thing was possible. Gideon would have tried her own hand at distilling, but was more interested in finally getting her hands on the box that had been carefully tucked in a corner, with an artfully dented side to aid identification.

Gideon carried the box out, and placed it off to one side, before moving the rest of the goods out of the shuttle. Crux showed up as she and the pilot got chatting about the scorpion races on Three. Apparently an unexpected upset had occurred in the last round. The pilot was just getting warmed up to the story, involving as it did a bag of knuckle bones, three scorpions, weighted dice and a younger scion of the house.

“Consorting with pilots, Nav. You shame your house,” Crux said.

“For crying out loud, we were just talking! Besides, he doesn’t have the right equipment for anything more interesting.” Gideon said. “You’re a drone Crux, and like the male bee do and say nothing useful.”

Crux was easy enough to brush off, and stormed right back out in a huff like the outsized dried up bat he was inside. But even the brief exchange meant Gideon’s eye was off her precious box for a monument.

The box was gone. Gideon glanced around hurriedly, and saw what might be the box disappearing down a corridor, in the arms of a skeleton.

“Useless bag of bones” she muttered, and after checking Crux was still gone, Gideon gave chase. The skeletons did not appear to move fast, but their steady, clacking stride could cover ground surprisingly well. Not willing to run after a meatless cadaver, she instead veered off to intercept, walking unhurriedly towards the lift shafts towards the lower level and the kitchens.

Unsurprised she had arrived too late, Gideon checked her sword was secure, wrapped her scarf around her hands and, with the scraps of material a small protection from the biting metal, gripped the lift cable, sliding steadily down towards the still moving lift.

Landing with a thump on its roof as the lift came to its creaking, clanking halt, Gideon flipped herself over the edge, slipping her box free from the skeleton’s pile as she landed upright and already, finally, running. The skeleton chased.

Avoiding getting locked in an endless chase, skeletons being mindless and indefatigable, and Gideon utterly unwilling to ever admit defeat to one, she instead threw the box in a corner and placed herself in front of it, pulling out her sword. The skeleton advanced mechanically, and Gideon swung neatly at the shoulder. The hit was jarring, but the arm satisfyingly severed.

Then three more skeletons turned from their own deliveries and started towards her too.

“Bring it on.” Gideon grinned and the advancing skeletons, and got ready for some skeleton action.

“Eww, not that sort of action,” she muttered to herself.

“Breaking the help, Griddle?” Where had Harrowhark come from, and how on Ninth had she moved so quietly!

“Having a smashing time, thanks for asking,” Gideon panted between sword swings.

Harrow made no move to intervene, just watching as the three skeletons closed in on Gideon once more. She swung her sword down, chopping through limbs and, in one case, the spinal column. That skeleton continued towards her, legs kicking out while the separated torso dragged itself forward. Smashing the torso again, then stomping down with her boot was as satisfying as grinding bone to dust ever was, especially with Harrow there to watch her tools broken.

Satisfaction was short lived, and Gideon cursed as she realised the original skeleton had picked her box up one handed and gone back to work, rapidly moving out of sight. She strode after it, and caught the box. This time the skeleton gripped to, and the abused box ripped.

Gideon contemplated the drift of paper for a moment, snatching a torn page from the air. It was. She noted, a particularly fine image, particularly the woman’s magnificent titties.

Harrowhark stepped her way through the paper, and scooped up one herself, contemplating the near naked woman with no expression at all.

“What?” Gideon snapped. “A girl has needs, you know, and it’s not like anything round here is going to do the job.”

“Trading mayonnaise, Nav?” Harrow said. “Isn’t that a little slimy for you?”

“Oh, I’m always willing to get down and dirty for a good cause.”

“And steal House assets,” Harrow noted. “Clerical error, really, you couldn’t have been a little more creative? I knew about your trading months ago, but it was so pathetic I could hardly bear to stop you. Like squishing an adorable bug.”

Gideon decided that just this once, discretion might be the better part of valour. She scooped up the papers she could reach and walked away with head held high. It’s not running away if you don’t run.

Gideon missed Harrow’s smirk. Missed her carefully stopping to pick up the box, and the remaining papers. Missed Harrow’s own perusal of said papers.

“Oh, Griddle,” Harrow muttered to herself. “You do all the hard work, I get the reward. Life and death in their proper place and you don’t even see it.”


End file.
